Copyright 1999 bluewords@yahoo.com
I watched the thing happen like it was in slow motion.
I had been sitting kind of at the end of the bar,
nursing a beer, silently cursing my shyness about
asking any of the women here for a dance. It wasn't
the best place to go for either dancing or a beer, but
it was all right. I was people-watching, listening to
their conversations and trying to think of a good line.
One guy in particular, although actually his girl-
friend, keep my attention for a while. He was, to be
blunt, a real asshole. He was demanding to everyone
around him, and was particularly rude to the woman he
was with. I wondered why the hell she was sticking
around with him. Is that what it took to get a woman?
Extreme rudeness? If so, I felt better about being
alone.
She didn't seem all that happy to be with him, from
what I could observe. She would do his bidding, but as
soon as his back would turn, her face went from smile
to frown. I thought she might even start crying a time
or two.
"You can go get me another beer, bitch," he told her.
It wasn't the first time he'd called her that.
I saw her emotions play across her face. He had already
turned back to his friends, and I noticed that even
they were a little taken aback about his crudeness. She
walked the few feet towards the bar, upset. There
seemed to be a struggle going on inside her.
As she approached the bar, a man got up off his stool
to leave. She glanced down at the stool and her face
became stoic. Instead of ordering a drink, she reached
down and grabbed the stool by its legs, about halfway
down. Her boyfriend had stood up to make some point to
his friends. She picked up the stool and swung it at
him, yelling "Devon!" at the same time. As it arced
around, another man stopped short in surprise, not
close enough to get hit. The slight commotion started
by her swinging the stool caused Devon to turn slightly
to look in her direction. The seat of the stool struck
him squarely in the face, causing him to fall sideways,
crashing into the table he'd been sitting at. He knock-
ed all the drinks off, splashing his friends and a few
other patrons. I saw blood come from on the side of his
face where he'd been hit, his smile missing a tooth
now. He continued to fall as the table broke, spilling
him to the floor. The woman, meanwhile, had dropped the
stool, and it hit the floor and bounced slightly at the
same time Devon was coming to a rest.
She stood there looking at what she'd done with uncom-
prehending eyes. The bar's noise level had dipped
noticeably, most people were astonished at what had
happened. I saw all this and thought quicker than I
had in a long time. I threw a twenty down on the bar
for my tab, and approached the woman. Devon's friends
were wiping their hands down their shirts trying to
get glass and beer off. One of his friends had made it
around the broken table and was checking him out.
Devon was out cold, but was still breathing, and I saw
a vein in his neck pulsing.
I walked up to the woman and said, "If you want to
leave, now would be a good time." She glanced up at
me, and what I said quickly sunk in. She nodded, so I
lightly grabbed her arm and led her out of the bar,
past disbelieving patrons. The bouncer ran past us,
not knowing what had happened yet. I turned back to
look at the bartender, who, with a vague motion at me,
let me know that he thought getting her out of there
was probably a good idea. We left quickly, and were
outside in seconds.
I steered her around to the parking lot. She stopped
short and wrenched her arm out of my slight grasp.
"Wait, I-" she began.
"Look, I'll give you a ride to where you want to go,
but you probably need to get the hell out of here
right now." I was concerned for her safety. She'd just
cold-cocked her boyfriend, and I was concerned for her.
She looked like she was going to argue, but then she
relented. "Okay," she said meekly. I led the way to my
car, and we pulled out of the parking lot and into the
night.
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